Demon
by Another Writer Who Loves
Summary: DemonJohn DemonIrene JohnxIrene The musings of two demons as they take on their new bodies and when they meet for the first time in centuries once more.


They were human once.

It was so long ago that they don't even remember that time. They don't remember who they were or where they lived. They don't remember their names. They don't even remember how they knew each other.

They don't even remember how they were turned.

However they do remember one thing. An old memory where they were still human and were in a field somewhere in the world. He remembers how beautiful she looked in sunlight and she remembers his laugh.

And then, everything turned black.

* * *

He had possessed countless humans in an effort to continue be entertained. Warfare was his specialty and he was delighted to find that not only did humans continue it but they enhanced and were creating more ways to create more destruction and more death.

She had possessed countless humans in an effort to be entertained. Seduction was her specialty and she was angered on the limitation placed on her because of her gender and how she was put down. She tried to possess male humans but found them to be more boring than the females and choose to stay with the females. Less people thought she would be up to something after all.

Although their paths never crossed they thought of each other often. Memories of human lives they can no longer remember. Their fleeting moments that they had together as demons.

He would often look to the night and stars and be reminded of her. She would often look to the sun and be reminded of him.

When they would visit hell to know what was happening in their realm they would occasionally catch a glimpse of the other.

However the glimpse was always when only one was looking and not the other. Their eyes never met.

* * *

He wasn't sure what had intrigued him about this man that he was currently possessing and looking at his new reflection in the window.

In truth he had first seen the person when he had been possessing a different man. Their paths had crossed and his new face had helped him and intrigued him.

And so in a rare act he had left the body he had obtained without a meal and followed the man in the shadows.

In truth the man after being hurt was near suicidal although he wouldn't admit it to himself. He was nearing the edge and would soon take the final step and he wanted to be there when it happened.

Souls that had committed suicide tasted the best after all. Tormented and in pain.

But then something changed. In a short span of less than twenty four hours the man changed and he found a beacon of light once more to cling onto and find hope from.

In the form of another man surprisingly.

And he did the honorable thing. He had waited until a small portion amount of time passed before pouncing. He had been deprived of a meal and he felt that it was purely justification of taking over the man.

That had been two weeks ago.

And his flatmate, the only person with a brain as he called himself, hadn't noticed a single thing. Hadn't noticed how his flatmate had changed with the span of a day once more.

Hadn't noticed that a demon is now possessing him and he was in a sense dead.

The face of John Watson was looking at him in the windows reflection. He smiled lightly before turning and listening to Sherlock give one of his many lectures.

* * *

She wasn't sure what had intrigued her about his woman that she was currently possessing and looking at her new reflection in the mirror.

In truth the woman was very plain and choose to hide herself in baggy clothes and little makeup. Bringing as little attention to herself as possible. She was quiet and meek and submissive and too utterly pure.

Perhaps that was what drove her to the woman. She loved corrupting and tainting the pure.

She had played a few games with the woman at first, just to make her little heart beat a bit faster and for her pretty little face to contort into a look of fear.

She had remained in the shadows and used the tendrils to play her little games. Fleeting touches at first that were gliding along her skin. Later they lingered and at times when the woman would least expect it. Sometimes in the public also however no one could see it or feel it.

She grew afraid of something she wasn't able to understand. And then when she was almost in tears she had pounced and possessed her.

No one really noticed. The woman wasn't in a relationship and her friendships were few and sparse. No one really noticed that she had been possessed and taken over by a demon.

However that needed to be changed. So she packed the woman's belongings, took her money, and moved around the world to make a name for herself.

The face of Irene Adler was looking at her in the mirror. She smiled lightly before she applied another touch of lipstick before turning and facing her newest client, her whip in hand.

* * *

The real John Watson still hadn't stopped screaming at him since he had possessed the body, in truth it was giving his a headache.

Watson hadn't stopped screaming threats and promises at him. They soon turned into requests and pleading. He wanted his body back and to be left alone.

John merely boredly tuned him out.

Watson was always repeating himself about Sherlock as well. To not hurt him or do anything to the man.

Now why on earth would he do something to his only form of entertainment?

Watson wasn't stopping and that was interesting enough. Most humans would settle into a whimper around the second week however this has been going on for a month and it didn't look like Watson was going to stop any time soon.

Most humans after possessing them for a month would never be able to return to their bodies. If he was exorcised from this body at that exact moment he was sure that Watson would be able to completely take control back again and have no lingering problems.

Fascinating things, humans are.

* * *

The real Irene Adler was whimper and crying in her mind. Her voice was meek and could barely speak coherent sentences for a while through her sobs.

She had begged and pleaded to be returned to her life. Her body. She had screamed when she saw what Irene was doing to her body. With who she was doing it to.

However now, if she still had a body of course, it would be described that she would be a shell of her former self if not dead. If Irene were to be exorcised from the body Adler would most likely die.

Such fragile things, humans are.

* * *

The first time they met, their eyes met, they were in the same room and capable of talking to one another they couldn't say a single thing to each other.

Irene was all but straddling Sherlock Holmes completely naked with a piece of plastic between her teeth and John was standing in the doorway with a bowl of water.

Their eyes met and they said everything they couldn't say at that moment. They played their parts perfectly, John Watson and Irene Adler. However despite the conversation and the seriousness of the situation they couldn't it when their eyes met again and again.

And in the end with Sherlock drugged the floor, Americans knocked out in the living room, and her making her little escape they finally had a moment with each other.

Irene eyed his new body. "Interesting average body." she said.

John eyes her new body. "Nice piece of work, yours."

That was all the words they said. Centuries upon centuries of not seeing one another and that's all they needed to say. They crossed the room to one another and embraced before pulling the other into a searing kiss.

However then she needed to escape, or rather her bodies vessel needed to escape. They mournfully parted and left without looking back.

**I do not own Sherlock.**


End file.
